Page 82 of Dirty Mafia King
She jumps and spins and then, like a deer caught in the headlights, simply stares at me.
Platinum-blond hair cascades around her shoulders. Not a stitch of makeup on her face. Breasts bouncing and nipples at attention beneath a practically transparent shirt.
She’s fucking stunning.
This is the perfect time to send her running. Yet my mouth’s already repeating my demand. “On. The. Bed. Now.”
Her throat bobbles, but this time she obeys, climbing onto the mattress and sitting with her legs swinging over the edge.
One push, and I’d have her tumbling backward, and second push, and I could be inside her sweetness.
Fucking hell,sweetness? I grimace.
What the hell is she thinking seeking me out?
I charge over to the nightstand. Little Lolita needs a harsh dose of reality. Without a word, I retrieve my handcuffs from the drawer, then, before she can guess my intentions, hook an arm around her waist and drag her across the mattress to the headboard.
“What are you doing?” she cries out as I pin her down and cuff both wrists to the ornate wood.
“Securing the premises from little sluts who show up at my bedroom uninvited.”
“What?” She tugs on the cuffs, testing them.
My dick instantly hardens.
“I woke you to tell you something important,” she insists.
I straighten. “Right.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t believe me?”
“Bingo.” My eyes rake over the body stretched out on my mattress, and I immediately realize my mistake. Because I fucking love seeing her like this, tied up in my bed and at my mercy. “Admit it—you came to ride my bull.”
Her chest rises like she’s drawn in a deep breath.
What am I doing? Maybe it’s the joint I smoked after the whiskey? Strong Colombian shit—the effects must still be lingering and clouding my judgment. I should let her go with a warning. Don’t tempt me, or I might just snap.
Instead, I run a finger across her lower abdomen, right above the elastic waistline of her tiny fucking shorts.
She whimpers.
The sound penetrates like an electrical volt. My resolve falters. I want her crying and quivering in need.
And Little Miss Innocent’s eager for me to do it, too.
Fuck it.
I draw a line on her skin to her waistband. “My little slut begging for another finger-fuck?” My hand dips beneath her shorts until my fingers reach her pretty nest.
Her hips jerk.
Greedy little baby’s anxious for me to rub her clit. Let’s see if she earned the right. “The truth, or you’ll disappoint me, capisci? You love the dirty things I do to you?”
Her chest heaves. “Yes,” she murmurs, her tone so low, I strain to hear her.
“Louder.”
She wiggles, and my finger slides toward the target. “Yes,” she breathes. “I love how you finger-fuck me and warm my skin with your come.”
